


grief is the price we pay for love

by braveatheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, since obviously jason isnt going to let them grieve, theyre ours now, we will do it ourselves, you cant have them anymore jroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braveatheart/pseuds/braveatheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Octavia both lost their soulmates. When they meet in the woods, after Clarke abandoned Octavia and their people, all hell breaks loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grief is the price we pay for love

You’re going to kill him. You know that much. You’re going to find him, and you’re going to kill him. You’re going to pull the pistol from your waist and point it at is head, and you’re going to watch him fall into the mud of the cave he’s still trapped in. He will feel the pain of Lincoln’s death. You want to try to appreciate Lexa’s new motto, but right now, you can’t. Jus drein jus daun repeats incessantly through your mind as you stumble, still hazy from the drugs Lincoln shot into your neck, toward the cave.

Bile rises in your throat as you recall the last words he said to you. “You need me.”

He couldn’t have been more wrong. You told him so, but you feel your words even more strongly as you trek through the forest. You’re running on pure unadulterated rage, and it is the only thing that keeps you upright.

Red clouds your vision as you walk. You’re practically feral, and you wonder if this is what Lincoln felt like when he was a Reaper. Only seeing red, only seeking more. You push the thoughts of him away as you navigate back to the cave. The rain is beginning to let up slightly. You’re still soaked to the core, however, and you find yourself missing the sensation of the frigid water chilling your bones. The air is still cool, and it provides some relief to your feverishly hot skin.

The sound of the gunshot rings in your ears still. Though you were a fair distance away, you could see and hear everything. You saw the blood spraying as the bullet entered one side of his head and came out the other. You saw his body slump and then fall sideways into the muddy water. You saw the way Pike stood there, gun still raised, watching as blood began to pour from the wound he caused. The image makes you fume, and your breathing becomes heavier, more labored and ragged as you walk. Your feet stomp into the soggy earth beneath you, leaving clear footprints that could easily be tracked. But you don’t care. You don’t care about anything or anyone.

The only thing that breaks you from your rage-filled haze is the sound of hooves clomping across soaked soil. You gasp and reach for a tree. You pull yourself behind it and line your back up with the curves of the trunk. You’re not certain that you breathe for a solid five seconds as you listen to the speed of the horse slow, then come to a stop.

Shit. They’d seen you. By now, the blockade was likely in place, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a Grounder from another clan ready to kill any Skaikru caught behind its walls.

“Hello?”

Wait. You know that voice. You’d know it anywhere.

Your most recent memory with the person rises to the front of your mind, and you have to suppress a growl that rises in your throat. You waited for her, waited for her to come home with you to HER people, but she didn’t. She stayed in Polis with Lexa. Of course she did. Why would she expect anything different? Everyone in her life that she once loved was disappointing her, why should she expect Clarke to be any different from the rest?

“You.”

The word comes out as a snarl as you reveal yourself from your hiding place behind the trees. Your hand flies to your gun on your hip, and Clarke raises her hands from atop the white horse she rides.

You pause, confused by what you see.

Clarke is wearing armor that you’ve only seen on Lexa. You know that there’s several white horses between the Grounder villages, but you’re almost certain that the horse she rides is Lexa’s as well. You can’t help but scoff at the sight. Of course she’d do this. Of course she’d Clarke on a mission to Arkadia, the only Skaikru member not under a kill order because she’s under the precious Commander’s protection. Of course she’d send her on her own horse, wearing her own armor. Of course.

Clarke removes her hands from the reins of Lexa’s horse and her hands raise in surrender. Her eyes are dull and lifeless, their usual blueness replaced by an empty grey. She seems completely unfazed as you pull the gun from your hip and aim it directly at her head.

“Can I tie him to a tree?” she asks coolly, her voice monotonous and void of all emotion. You nod curtly, and she jumps down from the saddle in one swift motion. She grabs hold of the rope attached to his reins and ties it carefully to the nearest tree, pulling tightly on the knot to make sure it stays.

When she turns around, she holds her hands up again. You approach her slowly, keeping the pistol raised. You notice that the safety is still on, which is likely a good thing. Your finger brushes the trigger unintentionally as you kick Clarke’s knees out from under her, and she falls forward onto them. Your stomach flips uncomfortably as you realize that this is where Pike stood just under an hour ago. You shake your head to rid yourself of the image of Lincoln looking away from the barrel of the gun.

Clarke’s features come to life. Emotion floods back into her eyes, and you try not to let it faze you. Her eyes turn a bright, bright blue, just as they do as she’s about to cry. You don’t want to care. You won’t. You refuse. She LEFT you, just like Lexa left all of you just a few short months ago. You hardly recognize the person staring up at you.

“You must hate me,” she says quietly, her voice trembling. You scoff and steel your expression, your jaw clenching hard.

“Yeah, no shit,” you spit at her. She sighs and looks down for a moment, but quickly refocuses her attention on you. Her hands, still held in the air, begin to shake slightly. She lowers them slowly, keeping her eyes trained on you to make sure it’s okay. You don’t stop her.

“I promise, I will explain later,” she says. You swallow hard as your jaw moves from side to side, arms beginning to burn from holding the gun for so long. “Right now, I need to find Lincoln. Do you know where he is?”

The sound of his name sends daggers through you, and your knees buckle. Your hands shake as the gun is suddenly infinitely heavier, and it clatters to the ground. Clarke’s eyes follow its descent, and when she looks up to meet your eyes again, they’re full of confusion. Her brow furrows and you think that her head tilts slightly to the right in inquiry.

The rain has started to fall again, and you’re grateful. If you’re going to break, at least the rain will hide it.

“Octavia?” Clarke asks quietly. It comes out steady and strong, the complete opposite of the way you feel. You don’t say a word, and instead just continue to stare into her eyes, shooting daggers with your own.

You stay that way for a few moments, but you can see the exact moment when she figures it out. Her eyelids flutter slightly, and she takes in a quick breath of air. Her back, once straight as she kneeled before you, crumples downward. She settles on her heels as the rain increases from a slight drizzle to a steady downpour. Her unruly blonde hair mats to her face, and she doesn’t bother to push it away.

“He was locked in a cage under Pike’s orders for days,” you say. Your voice shakes with fury, and you swallow hard. The cold water seeps back under your skin, again, and you will yourself not to shiver. “But you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

Clarke gasps, and hurt settles itself on her features. Her lip quivers slightly, but she purses her lips together to steady herself.

“I was trying to fix this from the other side,” she insists, her voice wavering but still strong. She raises her hands slightly, her back straightening out again. Her words do nothing to soothe you, however, and the anger inside you boils. It heats your insides, starting at the base of your stomach and spreading outward from there. Nausea threatens to cause your stomach to expel its contents, but you refuse to allow it. You refuse to be weak.

“No, you were abandoning your people,” you accuse. You step forward into her space, your entire body wracked with tremors now. You ball your hands into fists, prepared to punch her if she dares speak another word in defense of her actions.

“If there was no one there to get through to the Commander, how -”

Wrong move, Clarke.

You draw your fist back and slam it into the side of her cheek, and you hear a terrible crack. You’re fairly certain you just broke her cheekbone, and you hate the joy that it brings you. You don’t want to turn into this, but you feel it happening despite your internal protests. You don’t want to believe that she deserves this, but you do.

Clarke lets out a cry and her hand reaches up to the impact point. Tears do not well in her eyes, however, as she gently prods the area. She murmurs a “not broken” and you sigh at the slight bit of relief that it gives you. A conflicting mix of guilt and pleasure rise in your chest as you watch the bruise already starting to form.

“This is your fault. Yours and my branwada brother’s. You two did this,” you say. You’re angry, but you can already feel it starting to dissipate against your will. You don’t want the anger to give way, because you know that devastation lies beneath it, and you’re not ready for that. You will never be ready to feel this.

Clarke doesn’t say a word as she looks up at you, and you hate the way she looks so sympathetic. She should hate you, but she doesn’t.

“It’s your fault that he’s dead!”

Saying the words out loud makes it all too real. You watched it happen. You watched the bullet go through his brain, watched him fall into the mud, watched them drag his body away, watched Pike watch without remorse as they did so. None of it made it real until you said it out loud.

You fall to your knees in front of Clarke, all anger and energy leaving your body all at once. You’re shivering hard, and you know it’s not the rain. You feel strong yet quivering arms wrap around you and pull you close. Your head rests near the familiar shoulder piece that you’ve most often seen on Lexa.

You know that too much noise will get you both found and killed, but hard as you might try, you can’t stop the scream that forces itself up your throat. Your head throbs with pressure as tears spill over onto your cheeks, mixing with the frigid rain. Your throat clenches and unclenches with silent sobs. Your lungs beg for air that you can’t pull in, and your body shakes as it is wracked with tremors of grief. 

You need something to grab hold to, so you twist your fingers in Clarke’s shirt helplessly. It’s not enough. It will never be enough.

“I’m so sorry,” she stutters, and it takes you a moment to realize that she’s crying, too. A soaked hand comes up and pushes through your braided hair, then locks itself behind your neck. She runs her thumb across your cheek as her own body trembles against yours.

“I never got to tell him I loved him,” you whisper, your voice coming out more like a whine than anything else. His words ring in your ears, replaying over and over in your mind. His eyes stare deep into your soul in your memory, and you’re filled with the essence of him. That sensation, which used to heal your wounds, pours salt and alcohol into these.

You and Clarke stay there, kneeling in the pouring rain as mud seeps into your somewhat thin clothing, for quite some time. 

The only thing that pulls you out of your own grief is the sensation of something pressing against your ear. It must be in a pocket inside Clarke’s coat. It feels like a small box, and you pull back shakily to reach meet the blonde’s eyes. You can hardly see through the tears that blur your vision, but you hope she knows what you’re asking.

You blink a few times, and you see her expression as you meet eyes. Fresh tears spill over her cheeks as she comprehends your question, and confusion washes over you. What could she possibly hold, with that much emotional value, in this little box?

She pulls it out from under her coat, her hand shaking so hard that she nearly drops it. You hurriedly reach out and catch it. She whispers a thanks and gently takes it back from you. Your soaked hair falls in front of your face, and as she slides the box open, you push it back over your shoulders.

You gasp as you see what lies inside. It is a small chip, just barely the size of the tip of your thumb. The same symbol as the one on Jaha’s City of Light chips, is painted in blue on top of it. You raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“The Flame,” she says, her voice raspy and broken from crying. The words mean nothing to you, and she must realize it as she continues to explain. Neither of you seem to trust yourselves to stand, yet, so you remain sitting in the mud.

She holds her hand over the chip to shield it from the falling rain as though it will damage it. Her eyes trace its patterns with such adoration and protectiveness, and you take in a shuddering breath, still confused.

“The spirit of the Commander. It’s an AI,” she says simply. 

“That’s ALIE 2.0, isn’t it?” The realization crashes into you like a tidal wave, and you know that as soon as you’re finished with Bellamy, you have to get back to the camp and tell Abby, or Raven, or somebody. 

Clarke nods slowly and places it back inside the box. She closes it and slips it back inside the pocket in the front of her coat wordlessly.

A realization dawns on you, and you feel your heart flutter for a moment.

“Why is that not in Lexa, Clarke?”

You know the answer before she says it. You can see it in her eyes. She looks up at you, and you see her crumble to pieces all over again. Her bottom lip trembles, and the second she meets your eyes, tears well in them once again. She looks down sharply and squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as she can. Her shoulders tremble with suppressed cries.

As you take her into your arms as she had done for you, you understand now why she continued to defend Lexa after everything. You wonder how you hadn’t seen it before. The lingering glances, the flush in her cheeks every time the Commander was mentioned. The sureness in Lexa’s plan, the faith she had in the older girl.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” you whisper to the broken blonde in your arms, and the heartbreaking sob you get in response is the only answer you need.

It takes several minutes for Clarke to regain her composure. As she cries, you allow yourself a few more silent tears for your own lost love. You hope that Lexa will take Lincoln back in, wherever they are, and imagine that conversation between the two of them. Two gentle souls, who never allowed the world to turn them into monsters, who had to leave their soulmates far too soon.

Clarke settles eventually, and she pulls back from your arms. She sits up and wipes her face hurriedly, trying desperately to pull herself together. You both know that there is business to be done. You know, without a doubt, that you will both help each other accomplish your necessary goals. You’re together. You were always on the same side, and you hate how long it took for you to realize that.

“You were searching for him,” you say, reiterating her earlier statement. You can’t bring yourself to say his name again, and you know that day will come with time. You can’t afford to look into the future right now. You can’t let yourself feel that emptiness.

Clarke understands your question and nods. She swallows before she responds.

“Ontari, the nightblood from Ice Nation, killed all of the nightbloods in Polis while they slept,” she says, and your heart skips a beat. Lincoln had told you about the nightbloods and their role, and you knew plenty about the wrath of the Ice Nation. 

“So, what, Lexa’s spirit chose her?” you ask in disbelief. If you knew anything about Lexa, you know that she would never choose Ontari. Not in a million years.

“That’s what we thought. But there’s another nightblood. There were eight novitiates in Lexa’s class, but Lexa killed only seven,” Clarke explains. “One fled. It was Luna, Lincoln’s friend.”

You gasp, shocked by this new information. You never knew that Luna had the blood of the Commanders, and you wonder if Lincoln ever did. 

“So you think the spirit didn’t choose Ontari,” you say, and Clarke nods. 

“Do you know where to find Luna?”

You nod slowly. Your mind begins racing with plans and escape routes to get to Lincoln’s village, and you try to think of a way to sneak in without being seen.

“What’s our plan?” Clarke asks. She stands tentatively, still unsure of her body’s capability to support her weight. She holds your hand out to you and you take it to pull yourself up.

Your knees wobble, but you stay upright by some miracle. If you weren’t still somewhat sane, you’d swear you could feel someone’s arm holding you up by the torso.

“First, we find Luna. We give her the chip. Do you know what to do?” you ask as you lean down to pick up your gun and put it back into its cover on your waist. Clarke nods.

“The Fleimkeppa passed his duties on to me. Ai laik Fleimkeppa, nau,” she tells you. That explains the getup and the fact that she’s riding Lexa’s horse. The two of you walk over to the white steed and untie him, then mount him and settle on his back.

“Okay, good. We find Luna, let the spirit choose her, and send her to Polis on the horse,” you say, wrapping your arms around Clarke’s torso to keep yourself steady. 

“And then?”

You sigh. You know that the first thing you want to do is kill Bellamy, or at the very least beat him senseless. You can’t find an ounce of love left for your brother no matter how hard you try. He is the reason the love of your life is dead. He is the reason for all of this. It is his fault. His, Pike’s, and anything who has anything to do with that son of a bitch.

The thought of his name reminds you of what the first order of business should be. Bellamy is chained in a cage with Indra watching him. Even if she has gone to Polis, which you would not be surprised by or upset by, those chains will hold. Bellamy will still be there whenever you’re ready.

You know what you need to do.

“We kill Pike, tonight,” you say. “I get to fire the shot.”

Clarke nods simply, and you’re both silent as you ride toward Lincoln’s village. You will fix this. For him. For Lexa. You will make sure that those who owe will pay their dues.

**Author's Note:**

> Reshop, Linkin en Lexa kom Trikru.


End file.
